Control
by authoressnebula
Summary: Post 4x16: "Alastair told me the truth, Dean wanted to say." Sam returns to Dean trying not to fall apart.


He didn't know when Castiel left, only that he had. He'd turned away, staring at the blankness of the wall in front of him, and when he'd finally felt a little more in control, Castiel had been gone.

It'd been harder to keep the control up after that, because there wasn't anyone left to keep control for.

He'd been about to let it go when Sam came in, coming to a halt when he caught sight of Dean. "Dean?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "What happened?"

_Alastair told me the truth,_ he wanted to say. _Daddy's little blunt instrument hit the world,_ he wanted to tell him. _You were right_ and _I can't do this_ crowded in his head, and he closed his eyes, trying to turn his head away. The world was still shaking, his vision not quite fully back yet, and it hurt like hell to move.

All he'd remembered was Castiel's voice and Alastair dropping him to the cold stone floor. Then he'd opened his eyes (eye, the second one had taken awhile to work) and had been warm, Sam right next to him with a worried gaze that almost looked like Sammy, and for all of ten seconds, things had been right. Even with the elephants parading in his head, things had been right.

And then his innocence had been shattered when memory had returned, and nothing had been right.

"Dean," Sam said, and he no longer sounded bemused, but concerned, worried, and it made Dean want to scream. Made him want to hide.

Made him want to die.

There was the sound of a scraping chair, and Dean opened his swollen eyes to see Sam scooting closer, having appeared at the right side of the bed. Dean hadn't even heard him move. Sam's brow was still furrowed, and Dean had no doubt that the concern was real, but Sam looked too stoic. Too...something. It wasn't right.

He began to turn back the other way, and Sam's monster of a hand caught him carefully by the shoulder. "Dean, what happened?" he asked. "Dean, talk to me."

Sam didn't sound like Sam. He sounded like a firm voice that could hold compassion, but wasn't completely and utterly made of caring, like Sam had been. He sounded like a parent.

He sounded like _Dad_, Dean realized suddenly, and he choked to cover the sob that had managed to break through his control. Dad who'd withstood the torture for years, and then Dean had come along and-

"Dean-"

"I did it," Dean whispered, and he kept himself turned away from Sam, eyes shut tight, because he couldn't do this with Sam watching him. The words tumbled out, rough and low, and Dean was helpless to stop them, attempting to keep his control on his tears. "The first seal. I did it. I was the first seal, the 'righteous man' who broke and I started it all. I-I started everything," and the control began to break. Because Dean was too weak to hold it together, too weak to even turn on his side and curl away from Sam-

Sam, who was pulling Dean towards him, his hands just big enough to almost cradle Dean. "No, Sam, don't-"

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said quietly, and Dean brought his head back around towards Sam. His voice was closer, and when Dean opened his eyes, Sam was right there, hunched over in the chair to meet Dean's gaze. "You hear me? It wasn't your fault, Dean. You didn't know, I didn't know, and you were supposed to break. That's what Hell does, Dean."

"I broke because I was weak," Dean whispered, more tears running down his face. "Dad didn't break. Not once. And I broke because-"

"It doesn't matter," Sam said suddenly, voice firm again, but it wasn't the firmness of someone dislocated. Dean took in a shuddering breath and blinked, and Sam was gazing at him now, brow smoothed out and lips pursed together without anger. He repeated himself with a sort of urgency and said, "It doesn't matter. If you broke the first seal, fine. That doesn't change anything to me, okay? Look, I've...I've done some things that aren't stellar, either, trust me." A wince, almost too slight to see, but Dean was gazing back just as intently now, because Sam was something else now, not Sam but still Sam- "But I knew, when I did them, what was going to happen. I knew even while I did them. They were my choices. This? This wasn't your choice. You didn't know, Dean. You couldn't have possibly known that by choosing to stop the pain that you were breaking a seal. There's no blame. Not from anyone, and definitely not from me."

_There you are,_ Dean thought as his eyes began to fill, because he was there, _Sammy_, peering at Dean with all his puppy-eyed determination and hope and Dean had _missed_ him. Not the shape-up or ship-out general who told him to get angry. Not the almost-Dad who was stuck on finishing the mission.

Sammy. The one who sat beside his bed and waited for him to wake up, who didn't leave Dean's bedside, who didn't think he was lame or pathetic or to blame for caving in after thirty years of pain. Sammy, who even now pulled Dean into a hug, his arm going behind Dean's shaking back, knowing before Dean did when he'd lose control at last. Sammy, who cradled him and held on while Dean lost the battle to tears and sobs he'd been trying to hold at bay for the last forty years.

And for everything that was still so broken between them, Dean had to tell him. "Have to stop it," he gasped out, fingers clutched tight in Sam's shirt.

"Stop what?" Sam whispered above him.

"'Pocalypse. I started it, I...Sammy I have to end it. And I can't." He barked out a bitter laugh, and it turned on a dime into a sob he thought he'd released. "I can't do it, m'too weak, I can't...Sammy, I _can't do this_-"

"Yes you can," Sam said quietly, and Dean didn't think he imagined the tightening of the arms around him. "If you have to finish it, then fine. But you're not gonna finish it alone. I promise."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Dean felt a margin of control return. The tears slowed, and it took a long minute for him to breathe again. Then _I can't do it_ screamed and echoed within himself, over and over until he swore it was out loud, and the despair began to try and choke him again.

"Yes," Sam said, and when Dean glanced to the side, Sam was right there, his forehead pressed gently against Dean's. "Yes, you can."

Dean swallowed. "Sam-"

"You can. I know you can. And you will." The puppy-eyed determination was back, and the small smile that went with it made Dean's heart ache. _Sammy_. "I swear, Dean."

Dean finally nodded, his skin rubbing against Sam's hair. Sam gave him one last, small smile, before he stretched back up and let Dean's head rest against his shoulder. His arms never left their encircling of Dean, and Dean tried to push back the despair and panic. Sam was strong and solid around him, and for a few moments, he'd been Sammy.

He wasn't sure he could do it with just Sam. But if Sammy was still in there...

He could do it with Sammy. He'd find the Sammy he knew deep down inside his changed Sam, and he could do it, because Sammy still looked up to him. Sammy still thought he could do anything.

Sammy was the only one who could look at a weak, broken Dean and declare him a hero.

Dean shut his tired, swollen eyes, tears leaking out from beneath the closed lids. Around him, Sam was still there. For all the awkwardness between them, for all that Sam had changed, he was still there.

Dean's need for control slid away, and he let himself sleep.

END


End file.
